Minimum
by Bibliotecaria.D
Summary: Tell a story with a minimum of words.
1. Pt 1: Sentences

**Tell a story with a minimum of words.**

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 **Title:** Minimum

 **Warning:** Everything. Sentence prompts, stories I've never written, evoking an entire tale from your imagination using only a few sentences.

 **Rating:** R

 **Continuity:** IDW, G1, Brave Police: J-Decker. Cracked Pavement, Foundation, Gone Fishing.

 **Characters:** Everyone.

 **Disclaimer:** The theatre doesn't own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play.

 **Motivation (Prompt):** Various Tumblr things.

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 **Pt. 1: Sentence - a story in 1-2 sentences.**

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 _Subliminal_

Attraction seeped under the doors of consciousness, fingers of lust stroking soft thoughts down the insides of his helm until his engine turned over at some deep-seated urge that never truly crossed his mind but was there, it was there. It lapped at the border where fantasy met reality, and although he didn't quite dare to dream, would never presume to approach first, Optimus Prime found his optics lingered on white wings, gentle hands, and everything he'd learned Skyfire to be.

 _Blood_

If the Wreckers bled out, they bled out under Autobot Command's orders but for their own reasons, dripping internalized poison out of battle wounds that were never as painful as the ones they'd inflicted on themselves.

 _Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious_

Words were Bluestreak's sanctuary, his babbling relief from the crush of memory like the buildings that had fallen on him, and it was no surprise how his desperate desire to escape the trap he was stuck in manifested in continually learning new languages to escape just a little further into.

 _Construction_

Their purpose used to be to build, to repair, to create until war inverted their function in itself. Prowl struck to the spark of the Constructicons' very beings because underneath his cool, professional veneer he knew, he felt, he lived the rage that changed normal mechs into monsters - and he had no interest in redemption, for them or himself.

 _Swimmingly_

Everything was going just swimmingly right up until the second Nautilator forgot himself and yelled for another drink. Suddenly Snap Trap had his head in a vice grip, the other Seacons were covering their backs as they retreated, and the baffled Prime was left staring in anger and confusion after them, standing abandoned in the middle of a neutral bar at the aft end of the galaxy.

 _Phrontistery_

For all his loud laughter, dazzling smile, and bright optics, the office reflected nothing of a larger-than-life sales personae The Swindle his gestaltmates found sitting behind the desk spoke slow and thoughtful from the depths of whatever complicated, convoluted idea he had been pursuing before they interrupted.

 _Glam_

Brandy wants to get hired at the hair salon, so she asks for practice models and you volunteer because, yeah, fuck it, it's a cheap way to tell if it's just your imagination. Maybe it should have ended there, but Tracks' lights blow super bright when you step to the curb in intricate cornrows that aren't your style and you realize this won't be the first time you get your hair done up fancy because it apparently cranks an alien car's starter. Shit. It wasn't your imagination.

 _Skittish_

It was hard to catch them doing more than looking at each other, but the occasional glimpse could be seen here and there: one tender moment of a hand touching the side of a mask plus the tilt of optics smiling upward, seconds caught between formal office and a subordinate's respect. It added up into a relationship the rest of the Autobots were dying of curiosity over but afraid at the same time that they'd scare the two of them apart if even one gossipy question was dared.

 _Starscream_

He will shriek defiance, and he will fight, and then he will submit, but he will never, ever die.

 _Indelible_

The scuffs buffed away, the dents popped out, and Knock Out repainted and polished the marks of war away until only the rawest, ugliest scar remained, slashed across his spark like a scratch through paint, and in the exposed, vulnerable silver of his deepest metal reflected the yellow optic light of a remembered fondness.

 _Epitome_

The surviving Cybertronians were the epitome of their race: the last, the greatest, the end-all, be-all of their kind, culmination and representation. That was reason enough for the Galactic Council to universally condemn them.

 _Nom_

It was a little known fact that the way to the sparks of Special Operations in general was through their fuel tanks, if one could simply persuade them to trust that there was no poison, drug, or professional motive behind the gifted treats. (That was the trick of it, and the reason the fact remained known by so few people.)

 _Fly_

After punishment, Starscream would frequently, frantically rocket off into the sky as if seeking the freedom of open air. His flight path inspired breathless admiration in his watchers, which explained why Megatron sometimes punished him even though he had, believe it or not, done nothing wrong.

 _Mourning_

Starscream mourned Skyfire twice. The first mourning period stretched out for millennia, marked by funeral pyres fueled by the bodies of those he believed had prevented rescue or wronged the shuttle in absentia, yet his sorrow returned twice as heavy upon Skyfire's revival, and Starscream never quite finished grieving for what he'd lost on the ice that day.

 _Regret_

Skyfire and Starscream shot each other in battle, regrets the power behind their hate-sharpened barbs. Anger thickened their throats and second thoughts tasted bitter on their tongues as they dodged and returned fired, old pain colder than the air rushing over their wings, and the silence in their wakes hurt more than any landed shots.

 _Transmission_

A ghost haunted the spare parts bin, First Aid believed. When his exasperated teammates set out to prove him wrong, he found them sitting numbly in the repair bay as memory walked the dead through their minds as though Ratchet were still alive, and although they didn't believe in ghosts, they understood.

 _Cassettes_

Soundwave adopted them as much as they adopted him, protectors and spies and reformatted frametypes folded up in his chest compartment. He took their pain as his own until it stopped, it stopped, it stopped, and one more Cassette dock gaped empty inside him.

 _Ramification_

Okay, unintended ramification of inviting Jazz to his berth was discovering that such an invitation was evidently de facto permission to every single member of SpecOps. He'd woken up for the fifth morning in a row with four mechs tucked in beside him, three more on the floor, and he wasn't sure but he had a nagging suspicion that the division had some kind of rotation for who got what night and where.

 _Blackmail_

Vortex threatened physical violence, but it was Swindle's casual, pointed back-corridor comments that brought Nautilator grudgingly stumping to the Combaticons' quarters at long last.

 _Creep_

Nautilator had mixed feelings for where tonight was heading. On the one hand, Vortex was the creepiest creep this side of a horror movie, but on the other hand, the loyalty program made him absolute goo for someone who, say, just so happened to have Lord Megatron's exact vocal frequency.

 _Cuddle_

With what Swindle had hanging over the lobster, they could have done anything to him without a peep of protest. He was bemused to discover what the three furtive Combaticons wanted most from him were slow strokes of his hands down their backs and warm comments from his magic vocalizer of, "You have pleased me, loyal soldier."

 _Leak_

"I hear you have been undermining my authority," Megatron said in that dark, rasping voice Nautilator could mimic with minimal effort, and the lobster regretted (almost) everything.

 _Howlback_

It wasn't accurate to say the Decepticons had no femmes left in their ranks, but it _was_ accurate to say they were terrified of the few that survived, and traitors had the most to fear from this one.

 _Empty_

Whatever else people said about the relationship between Starscream and Megatron, nobody was foolish enough to claim there was nothing there.

 _Birth_

Prejudice started in strange moments that rarely could be pinned down and pointed at as a cause. Ratchet finally, guiltily, uncomfortably, and reluctantly came to the conclusion his particular prejudice was his belief that mechs constructed cold were never as good as those ignited, as if the tiny, personal Big Bang of a single person's universe beginning influenced every function thereafter.

 _Chewy_

Sixshot was big enough to pick three of them up by the scruffs at the same time, and when he grew frustrated enough to do so, the Terrorcons held very, very still. There was nothing quite like being hoisted into the air in the mouth of a massive Phase Sixer to remind them that they could be both berserker Decepticon warriors and also small, chewy objects.

 _Extensive_

He did his research through observation in person and reading of personnel files, twining disappointment through carefully chosen words until every reprimand Optimus Prime gave became a punishment worse than any beating Megatron ever inflicted.

 _Dare_

"Dare you!" Cutthroat whispered, grinning with the sadistic confidence of somebody absolutely sure he'd won a bet, but Rippersnapper wouldn't accept losing even if it meant he had to march up to Sixshot in beast mode to lick their idol on the nose.

 _Mist_

The problem with an invisibility mod was the occasional malfunction in the heat of interface. Any lover Mirage kept for more than a week got to witness the gradual fade of solid plating becoming see-thru as pleasure overwhelmed the noblemech.

 _Elderly_

"This is the first time I've really felt old," someone mumbled as Ratchet flopped down on a seat opened for him in the common room, surrounded by similarly exhausted Autobots. The whole room stared in weary disbelief as the Dinobots stampeded by the door, still as energetic as ever.

 _Petition_

"Dunno why you ever thought telling her to smile was your right," Kup said thoughtfully, not bothering to hide his smirk at the stupid young speedster Arcee had just run ragged around the training course. That'd teach Hot Rod the value of minding his manners and keeping his fool mouth shut.

 _Mischief_

Rumble and Frenzy heard about Halloween first, this weird Earth practice of dressing up in ridiculous costumes and demanding treats under the threat of tricks if treats were not given, but the second year involved a lot more Decepticons in silly disguises cheerfully extorting propane tanks from neighborhoods up and down the Pacific coast.

 _Silence_

Fulcrum didn't talk how Misfire did, constant and annoying, but observant mechs tended to notice he somehow ended up in the middle of loud situations with what could be considered intentional frequency, almost as if he was avoiding something he couldn't help but listen to when there was nothing else to hear.

 _Longing_

For all that they were two factions supposedly out for each other's heads, it was telling that if asked, soldiers from both factions spoke wistfully of a future where the war was over.

 _Oops_

Huh, so that's what happened when a mech hit on the wrong person at the wrong time, an instant mistake illustrated in explosives and surprised rejection. Wheeljack stomped grumpily out of his lab looking so pissed off not even Prowl dared order him to clean up the blackened mess and the forlorn, guilty mech standing in scorched embarrassment in the middle of things.

 _Serrated_

His personality was solid but in pieces, jagged edges sharply jutting from a smooth, sleek base that could snap at the right angle but cut through anyone who tried. The Constructicons tried, they tried, Bombshell carved out notches in Prowl that were supposed to weaken him to fit them, but instead he sawed into the middle of their gestalt and stuck, somehow stronger once sliced deep inside them.

 _Thank you!_

Gratitude was a gift without a receipt, intangible merchandise that could be cashed in for favors, a debt owed to him that Swindle fully intended to collect on.

 _Stranger-danger_

Civil war destroyed relationships, turned strangers into allies, and made the person next door into a mortal enemy.

 _Veterinarian_

Even when everything went to Hell, the humans sent in people to care for the nonsentient animals left behind in disaster areas, rescuing pets at risk of life and limb. The Autobots had no similar stories to tell from the fall of Iacon, the destruction of Praxus, or the devastation of Cybertron. (The Decepticons of Darkmount, however, could have told tales for days.)

 _Drowning_

Falling in love drowned him deep and dark, all the light flippancy he'd been using to stay afloat not enough to counter just how far down this feeling took him. Ratchet frowned at his spark readouts as if something other than that strained, stressed look on the medic's face were to blame for the ache Jazz felt.

 _Sinkhole_

Once he went down, his division developed their own private mission to get him out of his hole of his own making. Jazz found himself countering sabotage he never authorized and fighting spies within the network he'd put together, all while Special Ops did their best to sacrifice his chance at true love on the altar of war.

 _Synesthesia_

Every word Starscream said had different meaning no matter how far into his intended audience Soundwave researched. It turned out to be a meaning in and of itself when Soundwave stood back to take in the wider picture painted by tone and sly looks tipped his way.

 _Inebriated_

"I would like to reiterate that this is not my fault but I will gladly take the blame," Starscream announced when both factions finally tracked down their missing leaders in a valley just south of the border. The two of them sprawled in the desert sand with their solar panels deployed, absolutely cratered on Earth's abundant sunlight.

 _Duet_

They were, for reasons no one could explain but everyone speculated, singing a bar song lewd enough to make Ratchet's lights go off, Prowl's sirens blip, and Soundwave blurt static.

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	2. Pt 2: Character Facts

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 **Pt. 2: Character Facts.**

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 _Regrets_

Regrets?

Starscream doesn't have regrets like sand scooped up off the beach, sifting through his fingers until he's only holding the coarsest grains while the rest have escaped his grasp. Starscream has regrets like Arctic snow. It falls upon him, unwanted and against his will, but when he tries to separate the individual snowflakes, they melt away to liquid he can't hold onto. They drip away through his fingers leaving nothing but a chill.

The snow will return. And he will stare up into the sky, watching it fall.

 _Vices (physical or emotional)_

Kup's vice is his cy-gar, if only because if really pushed, the medical or science community could probably cure his dependency. He doesn't push them. He likes having something to chew on too much. Bit of an oral fixation to go with the story-telling habits, yeah?

Also, he indulges himself in teaching. He loves having someone depend on him as a tutor, confidant, or protector. G1 Kup had Hot Rod, then the Dinobots. IDW Kup apparently went off and wholesale adopted an entire kickaft unit. Awww, lookit his widdle Wreckers destroy the 'Cons, awwww. They're so precious with their guns. Didn't they just learn so well from him?

 _Bad or petty habits_

Kup's adoption vice is a good news/bad news habit. Bad news is that the educational aspect sometimes makes him come off as condescending. Good news is that some people get off on him being condescending. Kup walks a fine line of finding people who actually listen and learn from him talking without humping his leg while they do so.

 _What gets them flustered_

Recognition that can't be scoffed down or dismissed. Kup talks big, but having some form of honest – or better yet formal – recognition will make him cough and shift from foot to foot. He's looking at you, Rodimus Prime! He didn't want these medals, no, stop pinning these to his chest, _you Grimlock shut up about above and beyond duty!_

 _Best places to kiss on their body_

What? Touch him? Never. You might smudge his finish.

Begone from Sunstreaker's illustrious presence until you've washed sufficiently to breathe the same air as he!

 _Ingrained habits/forces of habit_

Oh, frag. Don't tell anyone, but Vortex picked up one seriously weird habit from being in The Box for so long. He's so very _active_ when he's online that it's kind of suspicious when you notice he's not around, right? The suspicion becomes alarm when you don't see him, then you panic and tear the place apart trying to find him. It's like when you're minding a young puppy and realize everything's gone quiet. Where did he go? What's he doing? You _know_ he's off destroying something!

Except when Vortex recharges, he finds the smallest, coziest area he can physically fit in. Under desks. Under berths. He'd crawl inside a cardboard box like a giant helicopter cat; _'I fits, I sits'_ for Decepticons. He compacts surprisingly small when he's curled up, and he's only comfortable recharging when he's squeezed into a tiny, preferably box-like area.

The rest of the Combaticons have claustrophobia like you wouldn't believe, but Vortex nests in enclosed spaces.

 _Turning points in their life_

Megatron wanted to be a medic, once. He told Ratchet that.

Ratchet, uh, wasn't lying when he said he wanted to be a genocidal tyrant. Look, there's a time in every job dealing with people that a mech really, truly thinks the idea of 'Peace Through Tyranny' has it merits. The healthcare system has a lot of those jobs.

But obviously he turned from the idea at some point. Everybody on Cybertron can all agree it's for the best that he did, because Megatron was a merciless leader but Ratchet would have been just outright _scary_.

 _Guilty pleasures_

Overlord rewatches his gladiatorial matches against Megatron. Late at night with the lights off and the doors locked, he imagines how defeat might have gone further. Usually his fantasies end with him biting his lip to stay quiet as he bends himself over a chair, maybe the table, whatever won't obstruct his view of the screen as Megatron brings him down over and over again, forcing him to admit defeat. Making him submit. Megatron could have made him do much, much more, and Overlord pants, trying to keep it quiet as he squirms his way to completion under a foot he remembers heavy on his back.

 _What gets them flustered_

Tracking down his errant fan club only to accidentally find their porn stash instead. Look, it smelled _just like_ them, how was he supposed to know he shouldn't look in the closet? And now Sixshot has to look them in the optics, and all he can picture is the well-used pair of fuzzy cuffs lying next to the overlarge gun cleaning kit and…yeah. He's a bit flustered.

Also, he can't quite get over the fact that he never noticed they smell like lust and discharge all the time around him. It's just - yeah. Awkward.

 _Their tickle spots_

Okay, so, you didn't hear this from me and I'll deny it if anyone says they did. But. Wheeljack and Ratchet created the Dinobots, and for a while it was touch-and-go as to whether the other Autobots would 'allow' these living, sentient beings to continue to exist. I say that in quotes because I'm fairly sure Ratchet wouldn't have allowed the Autobots their heads if they'd attempted to deactivated the Dinobots. Again. Because they did deactivate the Dinobots once.

Looking back at it, that wasn't a proud moment in Autobot history.

Anyway, while Ratchet was busy arguing with the other officers about artificial intelligence versus the galactic standards of measurement for sentience, Wheeljack decided not to take a chance and set up camp in the Dinobots' cavern. Where he stayed, recharging in a big pile with his creations and teaching them when they were awake, one optic on the door at all times.

If a mech was very, very stealthy, sometimes late at night you could tip-toe down the hall and listen at the door. The purrs and giggles were Wheeljack putting the Dinobots to bed. Even him King Grimlock liked having his tummy rubbed, and his legs paddled air when Wheeljack hit just the right spot.

Shh. I didn't say anything.

 _What gets them flustered_

Pro bono work. Or rather, explaining why he did it for free. There's a terrible vulnerability to admitting he didn't need or want anything in return.

Blue Bacchus bestowed some words of wisdom on Deathsaurus the day Black Shadow told him the Warworld was his: "Just act like it's no big deal, or he might end up taking it back to keep up his image."

 _Their emotional/moral weak spots_

Video games. See also: opportunities to sacrifice himself for the greater good.

 _What gets them flustered_

Well, nothing happened when Starscream smacked his aft. Soundwave made the mistake of ignoring it, believing that refusing to acknowledge the crass move would lead to a cessation of attempts to provoke him.

Sooooooo…now half the night shift knows that Starscream pinning him face-first into a wall and groping him slow and thorough really, really flusters him.

 _Ingrained habits/forces of habit_

Jazz tries to make a show out of transforming. But sometimes, especially when he's just scanned a new altmode, he has to change and completely forgets which dance he's doing. There's just this moment of _flailing_. Oh, he tries to play it cool, but for a couple seconds there he's totally drawing a blank.

 _Their emotional/moral weak spots_

You had better believe Overlord found ever single one of these. If Fortress Maximus had sore spot, Overlord stuck a finger in it.

Fort Max's fellow Autobots were his biggest weak spot. Nothing ground in how helpless the warden was than Overlord taking apart someone Fort Max owed duty of care to right in front of him. Torture could make Fort Max scream, but torturing someone else really made him _squirm_.

 _Best places to kiss on their body_

Ah, but it's not about where Blurr is kissed. It's about who's doing the kissing.

He's used to running while ignoring pain, about smiling for the crowd while his body screams for rest, and giving his sponsors the reaction they want while he's utterly bored. Faking reaction to all the right caresses is second nature to him.

Give him someone he's genuinely into, however, and his engine will motor away at the slightest hint of affection. Kisses are just the cherry on top of the sundae, at that point.

 _Guilty pleasures_

Building people. Seriously, Wheeljack's no longer allowed to make any more people. He made the Dinobots, and then he went even bigger and made an entire combiner team. For a guy whose hobby is seeing how big of an explosion he can make, he sure enjoys making actual living beings. Maybe because they're impossible to predict.

Prowl has him under close observation to prevent any more 'accidents.' He has dire suspicions about Ratchet being an enabler.

 _Ingrained habits/forces of habit_

Optimus Prime swears like the dockworker he once was. It, uh, doesn't go over well with people who stand on office. He's been trying to act more formal, but dang it, when a mech's only weapon against a Decepticon is hard language, you bet your trailer the Prime's pulling out some choice phrases!

 _Turning points in their life_

You'd think Sixshot's would be when he was crushed alive by a metrotitan, but in actuality, his life upended in a small place called Mumu-Obscura. If you want to see what a flustered Sixshot looks like, bribe Black Shadow or Overlord to ask what exactly happened there when he had the Terrorcons alone to himself post-rescue.

 _Ingrained habits/forces of habit_

Someday Prowl will find out who exactly it was – he has it pinned down between Ratchet or Jazz – that told the rank and file he'll chase anyone that runs. He's good! He's fine! He just has a knee-jerk instinct _GET IT!_ reaction if someone takes off around him. He'll pull up a short the second his mind catches up with him, but there's nothing quite like an officer sprinting down the hall after a remote-controlled car.

 _Their vices (physical or emotional)_

Her vice is absentminded physical contact. She went for so long without the ability to choose. Jhiaxus stripped that from her. He inflicted his machines, chemicals, and hands on her no matter how she struggled, screaming protest. The fact that she reaches out for people anymore is practically a miracle, but it's mostly when she's not thinking about it.

Overlord freezes when Arcee settles into his lap, brooding, and he melts when her fingers idly play with his helm finials.

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	3. Pt 3: Unwritten Stories

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 **Pt. 3: Tell me about a story I haven't written, and I'll write some of it.**

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 **Megatron's misadventures aboard the Lost Light**

He wasn't going to ask. He was _not_ going to ask. He _was_ _not_ going to –

"Who does this mess belong to?" he gritted out, infuriated at the lack of discipline aboard this flying loony bin masquerading as a ship on a quest. His finger pointed in indignant demand at the disorganized desk at the front of the medibay. The ward manager's desk, of all desks in the ship! That desk should have been kept tidiest, yet he swore the blasted thing hadn't been touched since he'd boarded!

 **Megatron's one and only time trying out bondage alone**

This wasn't satisfying in the least. He wasn't foolish enough to actually turn the stasis cuffs on, and kneeling alone in the dark without the sense of powerlessness, of abandonment, of being tied up and left to struggle helplessly until the sense of inescapable surrender closed around his throat…

Snarling, he stood and flung the cuffs into the nearest wall. They shattered, but the violence didn't push him any closer to the peak. Charge simmered deep in his tanks, waiting to be pulled out of him, and he couldn't grasp it alone.

 **The Warriors Elite being forced to be roommates with each other**

"There is a cyberhound," Overlord said slowly, "on my berth."

Black Shadow leaned back enough to see. "Oh. Yeah. No, that's a wolf."

Overlord frowned. "It's a dog."

"No, check out the teeth. Definitely a wolf."

"Dog."

"Wolf!"

 **Prowl has a wet dream**

The sky fell.

He turned his face up toward it, distantly aware that this couldn't be real. No Cybertronian could withstand a full downpour, not in the acid rain, yet it remained a vague fact pushed to the corner of his mind. There wasn't any room for concern in his thoughts.

Every bit of him resounded with sensation. Wet, cool liquid pounded onto his armor in splats and streams, flowing over his plating inside and out, dripping onto his wires, dribbling down his struts, pooling in a hundred shallow puddles the dips and crannies of his body. The pure unmitigated feel of it saturated his brain module, spreading over processor threads like a paper towel absorbed liquid, until he thought in feeling, felt in detailed archived files, and spread his arms toward the falling sky to welcome it down.

 **Sunny and Sides- epic prank gone wrong**

The first clue anyone had that it'd gone wrong was Sideswipe showing up in the brig. He just turned up out of nowhere. According to the brig's security cameras – footage pulled because without prisoners to guard, Red Alert had to rely on cameras to figure out the timeline – Sideswipe walked in around 0200 local time, picked a cell, and sat down inside it. He didn't bother telling anybody he was there or turning on the cell bars. In all likelihood, he reasoned that everybody else would find him and do it for him soon enough.

He probably hoped they'd find out before his brother, because the brig guard and cell door were the only protection he was going to get once Sunstreaker tracked him down.

 **The DJD finding out they have fans who write slashfic of them. And draw art of them being sexy, and cute, and silly. Who speculate on forums on their preferences and habits. Who utterly adore them**

Something had gone dreadfully wrong between plan and execution of the Decepticon Justice Division. In theory, they were meant to be the arm of Megatron's Empire, justice reaching into the faction. In practice, they were horrifying, terrifying, and the worst nightmare of their own faction.

And yet.

"I found another one~" Kaon sing-songed, and Tarn felt a little embarrassed by the self-conscious pride lighting up the faces of his mechs. More than a little embarrassed that he felt the same way.

Well. He knew what the unit would be doing tonight.

 **That time Sixshot got it on with Tarn, and the transforming was the strangest part**

Some day, they were going to get the full story out of Sixshot. Some day. Some…day…

Okay, today was not that day. "Holycreditchips," Black Shadow said in one blurted rush as Sixshot's idle experimenting with the cocktail refreshments took a turn for the profoundly and utterly lewd.

Overlord would have kept asking questions, but he'd lost his jaw somewhere around the tenth ice cube.

 **"Hell hath no fury like a Soundwave scorned"**

He brought his hand down in sharp, crashing smacks. Metal-on-metal resounded, music to his audios, the music of violence, a relationship, intimacy, surrender, and punishment. The gasping grunts, the scraping clank of struggling? Those were the crescendo building to a climax, the best part, and his hand came down harder.

"Soundwave: does not enjoy being ignored," he said beneath the clamor.

 **Swindle tries to seduce Whirl's Wrecker backpay away from him, but it turns out Whirl just wants to cuddle**

"So, not saying this as a complaint," Swindle said, definitely complaining, but it was a mild sort of complaint and he was playing with the tips of Whirl's guns so Whirl didn't much mind, "but I'm beginning to sense a theme, here."

"Huh? What theme?" Whirl pulled his sweet little armful of warm plating, bouncy tires, and big, huge, guileless, pretty purple optics closer, spooning around him. Swindle shifted, and Whirl revved his engine in sleepy, surly protest. He was only getting comfortable tucked under the rotary's cockpit, however, so that was okay. Whirl went back to basking in the afterglow.

"Just something about Wreckers and 'facing," Swindle sighed. Resigned, he let himself be relentlessly snuggled. Whirl wasn't nearly as bad as Blurr, at least.

 **Pharma screwing up with a patient for the first time**

"Oh Primus, please stop bleeding, please stop bleeding – Doctor!" Wings hiked high and panicked, Pharma looked up at his teacher. "Doctor, I think I've nicked a major fuel line!"

"You think or you know?" Ratchet snapped, but he was already moving in to take over. "Move your clumsy hands, you oaf. Patch! Not there, **there**. Get out of my way!"

Shaking, the medstudent obediently stood back, hands clutched together to keep them from doing further damage. They'd already done great harm.

 **Mirage discovers the Cybertronian equivalent of knitting**

"It's very, uh, nice. Nice."

Mirage beamed, or at least he showed as much positive emotion as his reserved manner allowed, so it was more of a slight uplift at the corners of his mouth. In Mirage terms, it was an exuberant smile of happy accomplishment. He'd made something! By hand! Like any lowbuilt peon from the streets, except using expensive materials and elaborate patterns showcasing his newfound ability to produce items of dubious worth, and therefore it was an interesting hobby instead of something someone of his background should sneer at instead of do in his free time.

Hound gave him a somewhat helpless smile. Whatever kept him happy…

 **Cliffjumper being cheated on**

He had a temper. He knew it. Sometimes, just knowing helped him keep it contained.

So he had a handle on it when he found out, and it let him think about what he was really angry over, and it was odd. He'd expected to be furious at Mirage, but what he felt about that couldn't be thought about yet, so instead he found himself marching across the rec room to stop in front of Hound.

"Hope it was worth it," he said, and friendship snapped to pieces in the space between them as shamed, guilty optics met his own. What was left wasn't worth staying angry over.

Cliffjumper turned and walked away before he lost his temper.

 **Cybertronians react to the Brave Police**

They were like the Rescue Bots, only Earth made. Like the Protectobots, only less experienced. And Earth made. They were like Cybertronians, only Earth made. And without the whole Great War thing, too. So sort of like the Dinobots only far, far cuter. And Earth made.

Oh, Primus, they were adorable. The humans had attempted to mimic Cybertronians, and somehow they'd landed on adorable. They had made adorable. Earth-made adorable. The adorablest adorables that had ever adorabled.

"I want all of them," Wheeljack squealed, bouncing on the tips of his feet. He had both fists pressed to his mask as he stared with glowing, excited optics at the screen.

"No," three Autobot officers and Teletraan One said as one.

 **Prowl meets the Brave Police and takes them in as his own**

"That was very brave, but reckless," Prowl said. His voice held a kindness that seemed to surprise him as much as the Autobots listening in.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Deckerd said politely. For all his politeness, however, he didn't give an inch. He seemed very conscious of keeping his authority as an Earth police officer in front of the much, much older robots from outer space.

Prowl narrowed his optics. Out of sight of the camera, he could tell Wheeljack was bouncing on his heels again. He could all but feel the smug glee radiating from the inventor.

Yes, fine, Wheeljack had been right. They were adorable and Prowl wanted to adopt them all.

* * *

 **[* * * * *]**


End file.
